Iced Tea & Strawberry, if its not too much Trouble
by miss selah
Summary: He was rich now. Richer than before. . . elite, even. So why did he keep coming around? [Draco Hermione]


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**_Iced Tea with Strawberries, if it's not too much trouble_**

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Hermione Granger narrowed her eyes in the wet parking lot, where a car should have been parked but wasn't because it wasn't a car at all, but an illusion. _He _was back, running between raindrops with a briefcase over his head because he never could figure out the importance of an umbrella. Which meant that he couldn't figure out how to get the stupid thing closed, and she knew it.

"Hermione!" Her back stiffened rigidly, startled, when her manager called out from behind the cook's lines. "Get back to work, lazy girl! I don't pay you to stand around!"

She bit back a sharp retort, because she needed this job to finish her way through college so that she could. . . what? Even she wasn't sure what she wanted to do. All she knew was that the magical world had no place for people like her, who cared about house elves and had muddy blood coursing through their veins. The world of magic didn't have places for people who _cared, _because it was supposed to be up to the muggles to care.

The world of magic didn't need people like _her _because it was full of people like _him. _

"We're closed." She hissed through gritted teeth when he walked in, the door clicking shut with the same warm _clink _that it did for everyone. She _ought _to put up a charm to ward _his kind _away, because she didn't want his patronage, no matter how well he tipped. She certainly wasn't looking for his acceptance. At least. . . not anymore.

Draco Malfoy flashed her a grin, his cheek's hallowed. Age had become him, as it had his father. Gone was the layer of baby fat that had coated his cheeks at Hogwarts. Worldly affairs of the rich and elite, the kind she would never see, had left his eyes sharp with experience she would never know, and didn't particularly want to either.

"Then open." Draco didn't raise his voice – he didn't need to. He knew how to deal with women like her – short tempered and scorned – and he knew it wasn't with harsh words or sugary promises or even pretty cooes. It was with curt responses and straight to the point actions. Hermione Granger was not one who liked to beat around the bush, which was perfect, because neither was he.

She _hmphed _as she snatched up a menu, even though she knew what he wanted. Coffee, black, half filled with hot water because he didn't like it as strong as she made it. He wouldn't take sugar, because that stuff could kill you, but halfway through he would step outside for a quick smoke because he was going to live forever anyways, which figured.

He usually had to borrow her lighter, which also figured.

"I'll have an iced tea." He told her when he sat down at the booth, much to her shock. "No lemon. Maybe a strawberry if you have one?"

He was polite. He was cordial. He was _changed. _

"What's wrong?" Hermione knew something had happened, that this time was different. She wished that her voice didn't have a thread of concern or better yet, that she hadn't voiced the question at all. She wished that she hadn't noticed, that she hadn't remembered, that she, like him, was probably changing too.

"I just want something. . . _different._" His eyes raked up her five oh six frame, settling on the sharp planes of her face with a softness that belied his hard heart. Her eyes, so sharp already, narrowed and sliced right through him. She understood (vaguely) what he was getting at (probably), although she knew better than to look to deep in to Draco Malfoy's statements. She had once thought he was shallow, that she could wade through his pretty words and lies, but the instant she looked underneath, she had been wrapped in a world of intrigues and deciet and _father, of course I will do what is expected of me. It would be my greatest pleasure _and lies.

"Different?" Hermione's arms crossed, and she tucked the pen in to the hair behind her ears.

_I'm different. _He wouldn't say it, but for some reason, they thought it. _You're different. We could be different. _

"Different."

_Don't question it. _She told herself, and ignored the trembling in her knees. _And don't _do _it. _

"Coming right up."

The next time she came to his table, it was with coffee, black, half filled with hot water because she always made coffee too strong for his tastes. A stirrer, because even though he wasn't going to use any sugar _(that stuff could kill you) _her boss would have a conneption fit if she saw him without one and her lighter, because he always forgot his and he was going to need a smoke after a few minutes with her _(because while cigarettes wouldn't kill him, she just might)_.

"One sixty two." She recited from memory, not bothering to think to deeply about the quick grin that flashed over his face. _He will hand her a five, and tell her to keep the change. _That's how it always went, because they were creatures of habit and she was if not happy, then at least comfortable with the little niches that they had made for one another. She would stay true to their habits, even if they were becoming a bit to hot for him. He could just take a cold shower and _get over it. _It was raining. Maybe he could go have a little dance in it.

Only this time he handed her two cards – one credit, one business.

His hand caught hers and she glowered at him, resisting all the spells that rose to her mind. Petrifiction, only then he would be caught this way, _turn him in to a toad so his pretty outsides match his slimy insides _no, everyone would notice and they would probably get a visit from the health inspector.

He didn't back down which was okay, because neither did she, and finally, after long moments of him attempting to cow her, he let her hand go with a sigh.

He left her three forty eight on the table, the same as always, and with the request that she call him sometime. . . for whatever reason. Hermione just smiled, nearly laughing, and reminded him that only muggles had phones. Pauper Muggles. Everyone else used text messaging and internet, impersonal and withdrawn. He was neither a muggle or a pauper, and she reminded him of that. He just smiled on his way out the door and reminded her that really, neither was she.

She didn't believe him. She twisted the card back and forth between her fingers, staring at the numbers with skepticism. He didn't have a phone, and she knew it.

Which didn't explain why, hours later, she held the card between her teeth as she pressed buttons with shaking hands, wondering, _wondering_. . .

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_**Anonymous Fangirl: What do you guys think? Does he have a phone? Ah well, I'll let you decide. Have a nice day! –tra la la's off-**_


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